Work Text:
Dear Bill,
As I’m writing this, the last time I would have seen you was two weeks ago. You came over to my house, it was 11 at night, maybe midnight by then, I don’t remember. We stood awkwardly at the door, I remember staring at you in what little light made it outside of my apartment, you were wearing jeans and that stupid jacket you love, the one that makes you look like a farmhand. You had a nearly empty backpack slung on one of your shoulders, but I didn’t pay it any mind. Did you notice that some of the stuff in my apartment was missing, I wonder? They were in boxes just out of sight, packed neatly and labelled properly like you know I keep things. I’ll admit I almost let you in, I almost stepped backwards to let you in like I had so many times before, but it felt wrong. So I stopped and caught the wall instead, put my body in between the half-packed inside and you.
Did you realize that you frowned slightly when I did that? Even in the low light I could see the way the corners of your muzzle turned down, your shoulders drooped like I’d just told you to fuck off. My mouth went dry, then. I never liked bringing you pain, Bill, I hope you know that. I told you I’d grab my keys really quick and that we could go driving around like we used to, and that seemed to placate you.
When I closed the door, I considered not going back out. I wonder if you thought I might not. It would have been so easy to just turn the lights off and go to bed, to leave you hanging, but I could never. I lied, I didn’t even consider it for a second, I went straight to my nearly-empty kitchen and grabbed the keys to my shitty old beater car, and went straight back to the door and opened it up. Your ears were already turned towards the door even though you were looking out onto the street, straining for any sounds from inside. You were always so easy to read, Bill, I hope you realize.
But we quietly went down the stairs and loaded into my car. You didn’t say anything while I tried to turn it over, no jokes or quips this time, it took me off guard. Did you know I was going to be leaving soon? Maybe you had noticed my empty apartment, maybe someone told you I was moving two states over soon, who knows. But the car finally turned over, I fixed my mirrors and looked over at you, but you didn’t say anything. I stared at you, trying to prompt you to say something, and I could see you think for a second before your eyes widened ever so slightly and you checked that you were buckled in. You already were, though, and I couldn’t help but crack a small smile.
I backed out of the parking spot and turned the radio down- it was a little too loud, too happy for what was happening- and then I started driving. You know there’s not much to do here late, so I wonder where you thought I was taking you. The drive-in had shut down a few months ago, and you know there’s always cops patrolling the mall parking lot, so I didn’t have a lot of options. You scratched the seat idly while I drove, and I know that it was already ripping before I started driving us everywhere, but you’re all I can think of when I see the foam sticking out of the upholstery.
You kept looking at me as I drove, but it was dark out and you know I hate driving in the dark. I kept my eyes on the road, both hands on the steering wheel. Although it didn’t hurt that it was an excuse to ignore you for a bit as I tried to figure out what the hell it was that you wanted from me, then. Were you going to invite me to a party? If you knew I was leaving, were you going to beg me to stay? There were so many things running through my head they all spilled
over onto themselves, so I tried to stop thinking and just focused on driving. Maybe that’s why I ended up choosing the freight train yard, of all places. I sort of just drove in slow circles around the cracked parking lot until I pulled into a spot. You’d obviously come to talk, and I was just postponing that.
But you reached over and turned the headlights off, and all of a sudden I couldn’t see. My night vision is so shitty compared to yours, but I just sat in the dark for a moment before I heard you move. I was scared for a second, I had no clue what you were doing, until the overhead light clicked on and I blinked the sudden brightness away. You reached into your backpack and pulled out a half-empty bottle. It was that whiskey you got me to start drinking, with the name you could never get right, it always hurt my throat to drink but I loved it, because it was you I was drinking it with. You got out of the car and sat on the front of the hood, and looked back at me. What else could I do but join you?
And we sat there, in silence. My eyes adjusted after a while, just the two of us, the stars brighter than the moon as we stared up into the night sky. We passed the bottle between us, no chaser, nothing. And finally you said something. You hadn’t said anything all night.
“It’s a lovely night.”
And I snorted. Out of joy, out of sheer despondency, who knows. You finally watched the movie I recommended, after Rex knows how many fucking years I kept telling you you’d love it. Were you trying to fix something? I could see that you cracked a smile, and you looked over at me after I laughed. I asked you, “Really?” and you just nodded. Did you even know what the song was really about? You’re a smart guy, Bill, I know that sometimes you don’t like to show off. But it was too late, Bill. We were living the movie now, even if you didn’t know it. I was going to move, and what were you going to do? Finally put enough money into your car to make it run for longer than a half hour?
Is it sad to say I hope you would? But I know you, Bill, and I’m asking you not to. Let your car run thirty minutes at a time, keep the jugs of distilled water in your trunk to top off your radiator whenever it overheats and starts steaming. I don’t want you to chase me. We’re not good for each other, and I say write that in the most loving way possible.
But I couldn’t say all that to you. You handed me the bottle, it was almost empty, and I took the last swig. It felt like hell but I downed it anyway, and I held onto the empty glass for a moment before sitting up. You sat up next to me and I thought about giving it back to you, but something compelled me to throw it. So I did, I got up and threw the bottle all in one motion, we tracked it glinting in the starlight until it landed and shattered into a million tiny pieces. And I sat back down, breathing a bit more heavily than I’d wanted to. Your hand snuck up on mine, and I turned to look at you, and you looked at me. You looked at my face, into my eyes, and then you kissed me. Your mouth tasted like whiskey, but so did mine, so I kissed back.
Was that what you were looking for, then? For reciprocation, for me to say I wanted you too? I always did, Bill, as much as it hurt me or hurt you. You kissed me softly, but firmly, you grabbed my cheek and held me, my face felt warm while you pushed me back onto the hood of my car and shimmied your jacket and shirt off. And then you kissed me again, and I felt your hands go for the button of my pants.
Did you really think that’s what I wanted at that moment? I didn’t not want it, but it all felt wrong somehow. In the dark, I could barely see you, just feel the heat of you around and inside, or was it the lingering heat of my engine passing through the hood?
But you showed me what love is then like you would before, soft and kind but firm and steady. You always used to call me a ‘tough cookie,’ and I felt it then, stuck in the oven under your body as you kneaded mine with your giant hands. I always meant to ask you, was that a tiger thing? A cat, thing, maybe, or just a you thing? I’d gotten used to it, but in that moment I realized just how bizarre it was, I almost laughed.
But you were gentle with me, always so gentle, and then it was over, you were panting near my ear and my tinnitus was flaring up, and we fixed ourselves up and awkwardly shuffled back into my car. The stars reflecting in your eyes seemed duller, or was it just my imagination?
I drove us back to my complex, and you followed me up the stairs back to my apartment door. You mumbled something about texting me, do you remember? You never did. I went to sleep and woke up the next day, and there was nothing. I figured maybe you’d forgotten, but after a few days I got worried. I asked your eagle friend last week, and he said you were fine, that he’d seen you the other day right as rain. Did you forget, I wonder? Did the whiskey wash it out of your system? Whatever it was, I had to stop holding my breath. I packed the rest of my stuff, checking my phone after each box was taped and labelled for a text or a call.
And then my apartment was empty. All except the sheetless mattress, my keys, wallet, and phone. And I packed it all into my car. It’s crazy realizing that your entire life can fit into the back of a family wagon that’s older than you are, but I hope you never have to come to that realization. The day I left, I swung by the church you never went to despite your mom asking each week to donate the mattress. I couldn’t transport it, but they said they could grab it, hopefully they can do something with it. And I couldn’t help but think of you. It’d been two weeks and I haven’t heard so much as a peep from you.
I’ve been writing as if this was all in the past, but in reality I’m still at the church.
I asked them for a pen and paper, and started writing this. I didn’t know what I wanted to write, I just started and let the pen take me. I’ll have left by the time you get this, but I figure you would realize that without me having to say. I hope you don’t think poorly of me for not saying goodbye in person, but you know I was never one for confrontations. That’s why I liked you, to begin with- you stood up for me when I was too scared to. But that could never be healthy in the long run, I realize now.
Once I finish writing this, I’m going to fold it over and leave it for your mother to bring to you, and I’ll start the trip to my new place. I hope she doesn’t read it, but if you do, hello Mrs. Holladay. I apologize if any of this letter made you uncomfortable.
But, Bill. I already miss you, and that’s the way it’ll have to be. I’ll push you out of my brain, and hopefully you’ll do the same, and we’ll just be soft fuzzy memories for each other once we forget all the rough edges of our relationship.
I don’t know how to end this letter in a fulfilling way, sorry.
Goodbye, Bill. I loved you.
Your Record Player,
Jack